


Like I Have Found You

by pikestaff



Series: What If This Storm Ends (Renegades Universe) [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood, Explicit Language, F/M, Fire, Hurt/Comfort, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Post-DA2, Rite of Tranquility, There is sex but it's not super explicit, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/pseuds/pikestaff
Summary: It took ten templars to leave Hawke for dead and drag Anders off.  Assuming Hawke is dead, however, is never a good idea.  Especially when Anders is involved.





	Like I Have Found You

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a conversation with my partner-in-salt emberkeelty!

They’d been on the run for about a year when it finally happened.

And ultimately it had taken about ten templars to bring them down. Seven of which had died in the process.

Anders figured that that was probably a large part of the reason why they’d managed to go so long without trouble. Sending templars after them usually meant a lot of death. And that meant that finding templars who were even _willing_ to go after them was difficult. Then, when they _did_ find volunteers, they were usually eventually killed by allies of the rebellion who knew what they were after and weren’t about to let them have it.

On the very rare occasion that templars actually made it to Hawke and Anders, the last thing they inevitably saw was a lightning strike of a man and the last thing they heard was the peeling thunder that never left his side. For the two of them were a storm, a storm that no single templar could ever hope to survive.

This time, though, it had been dark and there had been several of them, and the air was alive with sparks and fire and lyrium and ice, and the templars overwhelmed them and still they fought with the unrelenting furor of conviction, of _rightfulness,_ of _so long as I live, you monsters will never take them from me, I’ll drown the world in blood first_ , and one by one the templars dropped until only three were left, and that’s when Anders saw Hawke fall, and he yelled something to her and then all went dark.

He woke, at some point, as they dragged him away, and they hit him on the head again.

His memories of the events that happened immediately after that were a blur. He ended up in a dungeon, at some point, manacled to the wall. He was force-fed some sort of horrific liquid which he correctly assumed was a drug, and it kept him soporific and semi-paralyzed. He didn’t know how much time he spent here in this state, caught somewhere between life and death. Sometimes he was more lucid and that’s when he felt Justice’s thoughts, or thought of Hawke with a start that always brought the Fade to his eyes, but then the templars watching him would kick him in the head and his world would go dark again.

He didn’t know whether it had been hours or days when they finally gave him water instead of the drug, and not long after that a man wearing the armor of a Knight-Captain marched into the dungeon. He had a permanent sneer, and he reached over and grabbed Anders’ hair and twisted his head up to look into his eyes. “And here he is, the infamous murderer himself. Do you know, they call you a ‘revolutionary’?”

Anders spat in his face.

The man only laughed at him. “And what will the _mages_ do without their revolutionary now?” His voice dripped acid sarcasm. "What will they do without their champion?”

 _Champion_. “Where is she?” Anders’ eyes were burning a dangerous blue, and his voice was not the voice of a man alone, but of a man and a fade spirit together.

“Dead,” said the templar without missing a beat, and Anders could have breathed a sigh of relief. Hawke had come back from the dead before. She would do it again.

Anders’ voice was level as he spoke, for Justice had calmed himself and retreated for a time. “Even if you kill me, the revolution has already begun. It doesn’t need me, and it doesn’t need Hawke. You will lose. And you will die.”

“Oh, I’m not going to _kill_ you,” said the man, and that didn’t surprise Anders, really. If they’d wanted him dead, they’d have killed him already. No, the more he thought about it, the more he knew _exactly_ what they were going to do.

Justice was in the back of his mind, now, and those thoughts were telling Anders _it won’t work. It won’t work because we are the Fade and we will stop them._ But Anders wasn’t sure how reassuring that was, because even if that was true, what would they do when they found out it didn’t work? He would be killed.

Which was preferable to the alternative, but it was still something he would rather avoid.

The templar laughed again. “I see that fear in your face. You know what I am talking about. Such a clever abomination.” He spun around and looked at the jailors before Anders could respond. “Unchain him. Take him upstairs. We’ve got preparations made and I want it done now.”

The Knight-Captain left, and several heavily armored guards and templars unhooked Anders from the wall and dragged him out of the dungeon. He was weak from malnourishment and lack of sleep but that didn’t stop him from trying to cast a spell the very second he was free. The templars were expecting that, however, and put a halt to his casting before he could even start. Anders felt empty, then, as though he was reaching out to something that wasn’t there, and the templars laughed at him and one of them kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, and he was still doubled over as they dragged him away. The Justice side of him was quiet, saving his strength and biding his time. Among his years with mortals he had learned the importance of waiting, sometimes, and he was waiting now.

Anders didn’t know where they were or what type of building they were in. Templar barracks outside a chantry somewhere, he guessed. He was dragged up a flight of stairs and pushed into a small room. There he was thrown onto a table, roughly, his arms shackled down while another thick chain was fastened over his chest. He struggled; he growled like an animal and Justice appeared in flashes, now, but Anders was still so weak and the templars were holding him down and now the Knight-Captain appeared holding a white-hot brand.

Justice shoved Anders aside roughly and took charge; the entire room now was crackling lightning. “ _You cannot hurt me_ ,” his voice thundered. “ _You cannot break my connection to the Fade. I_ am _the Fade._ ”

And the Knight-Captain faltered, for the briefest moment, but then he was approaching again, holding the brand, and somewhere in the back of Justice’s mind there was Anders, feeling very small as he often did when Justice would suddenly take over, terrified that this wouldn’t work and that the very last emotion he would ever feel would be fear.

He wouldn’t let it.

He refused to let fear be the last emotion he felt. He refused to give the templars that satisfaction.

Hawke, he thought. Hawke, who was strong and good and everything that was right with the world. Hawke, who laughed like sunshine and held him when he cried and raged with him against injustice and loved him in all his fury and all his folly. He loved her.

He loved…

 _Thump_.

The templars all turned their heads towards the door, which was out of Anders’ field of vision. Even the Knight-Captain stopped and looked up.

At least, he did for about a half a second before he burst into flames.

The other templars rushed forward as the Knight-Captain screamed and almost all of them were dead in seconds; electrocuted and then slammed into the ground with the force of gravity and then set aflame.

And then the perpetrator stepped forward to where Anders could see her and there she was: Hawke, covered in blood, her eyes dangerous and glinting, and she held up a hand and sent the Knight-Captain flying across the floor. He lost his grasp on the brand he was holding as he did so, and Hawke walked over and stepped on it, hard. Then she watched casually as the Knight-Captain rolled around, desperately trying to put out the magical fire that had engulfed him. She watched him scream, her arms folded, eyes never leaving him. At one point one of the other templars who had managed to survive her initial onslaught stumbled upright and made for her, but she hurled around with the knife she had on her at all times and stabbed him in the eye. He fell again, for good this time.

The Knight-Captain almost had the fire out, now, and he was babbling something— the Chant of Light, it seemed— but then he gasped out at her. “Abominations!” he screamed. “Just like every other mage on this blighted world! But blessed are those who stand before the wicked and—”

He said nothing else because Hawke took two steps towards him and then shoved her knife into his throat. He gurgled and fell, his final resting place a pool of his own blood.

Hawke stood where she was, just for a moment, to catch her breath, and Justice retreated and Anders blinked as he took control of himself again. He was trying to find his voice when suddenly Hawke was at his side. She had keys and undid the locks on the manacles and chains holding him down, and then she reached out with a gentle hand and placed her fingers on his cheek. “Anders?”

Anders smiled weakly and lifted a hand to put it atop hers. “I knew you’d come back from the dead.”

Hawke’s eyes were always so soft when she looked at him. That was a look she reserved just for him, for no one else, and because of it he always thought he was the luckiest man on Thedas despite everything. But now those eyes were also filled with worry. She closed them, then, and looked down, her hand still on his cheek. “I was almost too late,” she said. It was nearly a whisper.

“But you weren’t,” said Anders softly. He closed his fingers around her hand, and tilted his head just a bit to kiss her fingers.

Hawke opened her eyes and looked up at him again. Her eyes hardened. “I killed them all,” she said, and her voice was steel. “Everyone in this fucking building is dead.”

“Good,” said Anders.

“They got a better death than they deserve,” Hawke nearly spat the sentence out. She lifted the hand that wasn’t on Anders’ cheek and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing blood across it.

“I love you,” said Anders suddenly.

Hawke looked at him and smiled. “Smitten by your girlfriend kicking the shit out of people?”

“Always,” said Anders. He meant it. She was chaos and destruction and fury and he loved every inch of her.

She leaned over and kissed him and he welcomed it; she was the air he breathed and the blood in his heart, keeping him going when nothing else could. He put his hands into her hair and she put her hands into his and they breathed each other in as they kissed. She smelled and tasted like lyrium and metallic blood. He didn’t know whose blood— hers, his, a templar’s— and frankly he didn’t care. She tilted her head down and bit his neck, gently, lovingly, and he gasped her name into her ear.

They pulled apart, then, and looked right at each other, and something passed between them. They might have been in a cold, hard barracks, surrounded by death, but damn if that didn’t just make them need each other’s comfort all the more.

Anders sat himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the table. Hawke asked him if he was alright, but in response he stood and nearly stumbled into Hawke, kissing her passionately and pushing her up against the wall, the two of them stepping over dead templars as they did so. Hawke responded in kind, her nails digging into his scalp and his shoulder. He moaned at the sensations and reached out to her trousers, which were irritatingly well-attached to her armor.

Hawke chuckled softly into Anders’ neck as he fiddled with her belt. She was in a better position; Anders had been stripped of most of his clothes and was in just a shirt and slacks. She inched a hand into his smallclothes now to tease him and he gasped and forgot her belt momentarily, pressing his lips to hers again. “Marian,” he whispered between breaths. “I need…”

“I know,” Hawke whispered. Anders finally pushed down her trousers and pressed himself inside her. Her breath hitched and she clutched his back with her hands. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” she vowed now. “Not anymore. Not ever.”

She held him protectively as she always did when they made love; Anders was taller than her and yet somehow Hawke always seemed to be the more overpowering of the two. He was the one clinging to her for comfort, and she was the one shielding him from the world. He rocked into her and she held him as they stood there amidst the carnage that they were defiantly keeping from overtaking them. No, they would have this, they would have each other. They had each other and the rest of the world couldn’t ever have them.

Anders groaned; he was getting close. He slipped a hand down between he and Hawke, helping her, and a moment later she gasped and shuddered and bit into his shoulder, and he followed close behind, crying out into her neck. They held each other, then, relishing each other’s closeness and allowing their breathing to return to normal. The world was quiet and the floor was blood and ichor and the air was still.

Hawke pushed her head up underneath Anders’ chin and he kissed the top of her head. She only ever let herself be vulnerable like this when she was with him. “I was afraid,” she mumbled into his chest. “That I’d lost you.”

Anders kissed her hair again. “They’ll think twice before coming after us again. And when we do, we’ll be ready for them. I promise.”

Hawke pulled back and looked at him, her eyes alight with warm affection, and she kissed him. “For now, I’d suggest we get out of here,” she said. “Unless you’re really fond of the smell of burnt templar.”

“I like the implications, if not the smell,” said Anders.

They hunted around, found Anders’ coat and recovered some supplies. Then they left, and the next day the town burned down the entire barracks. It was cursed, the citizens said. By a demon, because what else could kill every templar in the building and put a halt to the Rite of Tranquility?

The Rite was never performed in that town again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this I highly recommend that you read [Gratitude by Ember_Keelty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11014167). We sort of gave each other a prompt challenge for this and then each wrote our own thing based on the prompt. So please check out their fic for more beautiful f!Handers hurt/comfort. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Find me on tumblr! http://pikestaff.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gratitude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014167) by [Ember_Keelty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember_Keelty/pseuds/Ember_Keelty)




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